A Modest Proposal
by Heartache14
Summary: So, his hair was a mess. And that ring was probably going to turn his finger green. Not to mention that the entire Western Hemisphere happened to be staring at them. That didn't stop Gilbert's proposal from being anything less than perfect. PruCan
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So, this is my second fic for Hetalia. This was initially going to be a _really_ long oneshot, but I decided to break it up into shorter, more manageable chapters.

**Disclaimer:** Heartache-sama does not own Hetalia.

ENJOY!

* * *

The ring was beautiful. It was comprised of a large sparkling diamond supported by a sleek silver band with several smaller diamonds nestled within the metal. It caught the light in a charming, nearly innocuous fashion, glimmering subtly at first though steadily becoming more eye-catching as the golden sunlight embraced its beauty. Its owner was in a similarly shining state with a golden smile befitting of such a stately piece of jewelry.

"Oh, Italy! It's so pretty!" Matthew gushed as he admired the ring. He turned the Italian's finger this way and that, determined to examine the ring from all angles. The Canadian ceased in his delighted inspection long enough to flash a smile to the happy couple. "Congratulations."

Feliciano's smile grew, and he tossed his arms around the small blond Canadian. His fiancé, Germany, simply blushed and gruffly nodded his thanks. "Oh, thank you, Canada! I'm so haaaappppyyy! Ve~! Will you help me plan the wedding?!"

"Of course!" The two countries launched into a frenzied conversation about flowers and invitations and guests, and Ludwig found himself wincing at the thought of how much 196 invitations "printed in gold script on tasteful ivory card stock" were going to cost him. Already, he could hear his country's budget crying out in fear.

The German allowed his bright ice blue eyes to glance over at his older brother who was currently leaning against the doorframe, watching Feliciano and Matthew with a disgruntled look on his face. _I don't know why he's frowning. It's not like he's paying for this wedding._ Ludwig rose to his feet and approached the clearly displeased albino. "What's wrong, bruder?"

Crimson eyes widened at the sudden disruption to his thoughts. Just as quickly, though, Gilbert relaxed and chuckled rather fakely. "Kesesese! Nothing at all, Luddy! Just thinking that it's about time you popped the question!"

Germany opened his mouth to angrily protest, but he was pulled into the kitchen before he had the opportunity to do so. Neither of the two countries on the couch seemed to have noticed the brothers' absence, for they were much too busy discussing the benefits of having a DJ versus a live band. Ludwig felt his economy rapidly slipping.

"Bruder, what's going on?!" the blond demanded. Prussia's usual cheeky grin was nowhere in sight.

"Look!" the ex-nation hissed, his index finger forcefully pointing in the direction of the living room, specifically at his boyfriend's current location on the sofa.

"What?!" Ludwig questioned exasperatedly.

"Look at Mattie! He looks so freakin' happy talking about this wedding stuff with Feli, and…well," Gilbert's voice lowered to a whisper, and the blond leaned in to hear better, "do you think…he wants to get married?"

Germany was flabbergasted. His brother had _never_ sounded quite this serious before and certainly not in regards to a relationship; in fact, his brother had never been in a real relationship before, much less one where he was questioning the marital desires of his partner! "W-well, bruder," Ludwig replied uncertainly, "I certainly don't think he'd be too upset if you proposed. Do you _want _to marry Matthew?"

"I…don't know," the Prussian answered quietly. "Maybe." His usually loud, brash voice was thoughtful and sincere, and his downcast red eyes held a tenderness that Ludwig had never seen in his brother before. "I mean, I know that I love Mattie more than anything, and I planned on being with him forever, but I never really thought about marriage. Ever. I'm just not a marrying guy."

"Well, think of it this way: you want to stay with Canada forever, right?" Prussia nodded. "Marriage is just a big ceremony telling all of your family and friends that you promise to stay with him forever."

Gilbert nodded pensively, seeming to truly absorb his younger brother's words. "Yeah, you're right, West! And then afterwards we get to celebrate my awesome promise with cake and booze! Marriage is awesome! But clearly not as awesome as me."

And regular Gilbert was back. Ludwig sighed. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

"Ah, this is gonna be so awesome! I think I'm gonna go propose to my little Birdie right now!" With his cocky grin firmly back in place, Prussia valiantly charged towards the living room, but a swift tug to the collar ceased his motions.

"You idiot!" Ludwig roared in German. "You can't just walk in there and ask him to marry you. You have to get a ring, and wait for the right moment."

"A ring? What the hell? How am I even supposed to know what kind of ring Mattie likes?"

"Pay attention to him. If you happen to be in a jewelry store one day, pay attention to what catches his eye."

Prussia nodded, punching in his brother's advice as a memo on his cell phone. "Pay…attention. Got it. And how will I know if the moment is right?"

Germany shrugged. "You'll just feel it. It's got to be unexpected but special. For both of you."

"Aww, West!" the white-haired ex-nation teased. "I had no idea you knew so much about romance!" He reached over and pinched the other man's cheeks.

"SHUT UP!"

"Aww, is Casanova embarrassed?"

"STOP PINCHING ME! DAMMIT!"

* * *

"Prussia, I'm so proud of you!" Hungary squealed as she wrapped her arms around Gilbert. Though he would never admit it, he was actually _really_ freaked out by that hug. Apparently, Roderich was equally perturbed; his piano movements ceased for a moment as he simply stared at the two of them. "There's really not enough yaoi marriages in the world, and it warms my heart that you have finally grown up and allowed love to trap you in its embrace! After all, considering all the naughty things you and Canada have done, you're practically married already! How cute!"

"Please stop manipulating my awesome relationship into something that feeds your weird, totally unawesome fantasies."

Elizaveta nodded cheerfully as she twirled the handle of her frying pan in her left hand like a pro. "Oh, Gilbert, you're so funny." The Prussian paled dramatically, if that was even possible. "Now, Gilly, be a good boy and show me the ring you picked out."

Gilbert dug around in his back pocket until he finally retrieved the ring from its depths. It was a cheap trinket, equal parts plastic and some mysterious (fake) metal. The band was simple with no dramatic flourishes to speak of, and the (plastic) heart-shaped stone was hot pink with small (plastic) clear jewels surrounding it. The albino found himself smiling at the ring proudly, and even went as far to wave it in Austria's face, bragging about how a "piano-playing pansy like him could never hope to buy a ring as awesome as this".

Elizaveta retracted her arm before swinging it forward, cast iron frying pan striking Gilbert across the back of the skull.

"Gahh! You crazy woman, what the fuck was that for?!" He rubbed the large bump that currently protruded from his head, glancing up in time to see fiery emerald orbs glaring death beams at him.

"What the _hell_ is that?!" Hungary demanded, pointing at the atrocity of a ring with a shaking finger. Prussia frowned in confusion.

"It's the awesome engagement ring I got for Birdie, duh! We were at the arcade last week, and he was saying how cute it was, so I got it for him. Dude, you have no idea how many rounds of ski ball I had to play to get this thing. _Three hundred fucking tickets_. It's a pretty damn awesome ring, though. Definitely worthy of my awesome Birdie."

"YOU IDIOT!" the dark-haired woman screeched, once again striking the Prussian with her frying pan. Gilbert was pretty sure the brain damage was going to start setting in soon. "You got a cheap arcade ring for Matthew, the person you plan on spending the rest of your life with, the one person in the world who can actually put up with your ass for more than thirty minutes at a time, and you plan to propose to him that piece of junk?! I should kill you; someone who's that dense doesn't deserve to be alive!" Elizaveta hit him once more, knocking him out cold.

"Come on, Roderich!" she called as she dragged Gilbert by the collar. "We've got a proposal to plan."

* * *

A/N: Ahh, Prussia amuses me so much. He's so impulsive, and that makes him so much fun to write for. I love his little mini-rant about the awful ring he picked out. Arcade games have to be rigged, and I've never seen anyone get more than 5 tickets off of one round of ski ball (Damn you, Chuck E. Cheese, and your impossible games!), so Prussia must've spent a long ass time playing. That is dedication, my friends. Canada wouldn't have been getting an arcade ring from me. Just sayin'.

Ahhh, I'm lying! I would do anything for Mattie! *hugs Canada* I would even play ski ball for three hours straight for him.

Chapter 2 is soon to follow...

SEE YA NEXT TIME!


	2. Chapter 2

Hungary's proposal was totally unawesome. She kept going on about _thoughtful_, _romantic_ shit: flowers, chocolates, and a string quartet; basically a bunch of lame, sappy stuff that Prussia could've cared less about. By the time she began mentioning champagne and candles, Gilbert felt that it was time to interfere.

"_Mein Gott_, all of that shit sounds lame. Besides, who the hell's paying for all of that crap?" This statement earned him another frying pan to the skull.

Elizaveta sighed. "If you love him money shouldn't be any object! It is your job to make your darling lover the happiest man on earth!"

The former nation snorted as he rolled his crimson eyes. "Pfft. I make him happy with my awesome five meters! Kesesese!" The Prussian squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the metal that would soon come in contact with his skull for the fifth time that day. He wasn't going to get the chance to propose to Mattie if Hungary killed him with that damn unawesome frying pan.

Instead of hitting him, Hungary simply continued as though he'd never spoken. "You're going to propose to him at the next world meeting." Prussia immediately opened his mouth to protest, but the female country held up her precious frying pan by way of warning; his mouth closed quickly. "Not during the actual meeting. It's being held at Francis's place, and Roderich is making a reservation for the two of you at a beautiful, romantic restaurant near the hotel." Once again, Prussia attempted to interrupt but was again silence by the threat of kitchenware. "He's also making sure that none of the other nations will be dining at the restaurant. I'll be at the restaurant watching you, so when I give you the signal, you will propose to Matthew with the appropriate Hungary-approved ring!" She stared him down sternly. Gilbert gulped and nodded.

"Good!" the brunette chirped with a sweet smile. "Now, Antonio and Lovi are out picking out Matthew's ring as we speak!" After hearing those words, Gilbert decided to risk a frying pan to the face.

"You sent the angriest, most unlovable bastard to help pick out an engagement ring?! Hell, you should've sent France to do it! I mean, the diamond probably would've been shaped like a penis, but at least it would've been awesome!"

"Of course I sent them to do it! Romano is one of Canada's closest friends and will actually know what he _likes_, unlike the idiot who got him a damn arcade prize! Not to mention, Spain's one of your closest friends and knows which ring you'd most likely pick. And you might as well stop arguing, because we're going to do this my way!"

* * *

"No, dammit! We're not getting that ring just because the stone looks like a damn tomato!"

"But, Lovi~! It's so cute! How could Canada not love it?!"

Romano and Spain were currently bickering (well, Romano was bickering; Spain was whining cutely) in the middle of an expensive jewelry store. Many of the sales attendants stared at them in concern and bewilderment, most likely wondering if they were going to break something; Lovino had half a mind to tell the nosy clerks off but decided against it. They had been shopping for about five hours now, and this was only the third store; each time they had the same problem – Antonio would see something cute (but very un-Matthew-ish) and Lovi would have to tell him off.

With a slight pout that Romano had to turn away from lest he actually give in to the Spaniard's outrageous request, Antonio strode off to another part of the store, giving Lovi a minute to breathe (it took a lot of energy to yell at someone for 45 minutes straight) and fucking think.

To be honest, he'd wanted to give up on this whole ring excursion four hours ago. Feliciano had just texted him, claiming that he'd had big news and a large vat of pasta with his "dear fratello's name on it", and even though it meant he'd have to go to the potato bastard's house, Lovi was totally willing to make that sacrifice for some kick-ass pasta. Truly, the Italian just wanted to call Matthew and ask the pancake bastard what kind of ring he wanted, but Hungary had been very clear about things such as that: "If you tell anyone, especially Matthew, about the special mission I gave you two, I will 'accidentally' lose some photos of you and Spain at the next world meeting."

"How the hell does she even get this stuff?!" Lovino screeched aloud at the memory, once again diverting the attention of the wary employees towards himself. He gnashed his teeth and cursed quietly – well, not that quietly – until suddenly something caught his eye.

It was a simple ring, consisting of a sleek gold band and a solitary delicate amethyst stone at its center. It was uncomplicated yet uniquely beautiful, certainly befitting of a certain shy quiet country. "Oi, tomato bastard! Get over here. Look at this ring."

Spain strode towards his lover and glanced over his shoulder to examine the ring nestled between velvet cushions amongst dozens of other rings. Antonio smiled brightly. "Ah, its perfect, mi tomate!" Lovino called over one of the nervous sales associates and pointed at the ring they'd chosen.

The sales associate carefully plucked the ring from its position in the case and looked up at the pair. She chose to direct her question to Antonio rather than the perpetually scowling Italian next to him. "Uhm, was there a particular size you wanted it in?"

"Ah, mi tomate, did Elizaveta give you Mateo's ring size?"

"NO, SHE FUCKING DIDN'T! I HATE HER! SHE'S DOING THIS ON PURPOSE! SHE WANTS ME TO SPEND THE REST OF MY FUCKING LIFE PICKING OUT A RING FOR THAT DAMN POTATO BASTARD TO GIVE MATTIE! FUCK HER!"

"Loviiiiii~ calm down!"

"NO, I WILL NOT FUCKING CALM DOWN!"

"Sir, please don't throw that!"

"ARGH!"

"LOVI!"

* * *

Alfred F. Jones, self-proclaimed hero of America – no, of THE WORLD – had been given a very special, amazing task that only someone as fantastic as himself could accomplish.

He had to measure his brother's finger.

Sure, there were probably other more important, more boring things he could be doing with his time such as fixing his economy and doing background checks on the people that were trying to be his new boss, but he was a hero! And heroes never ignore the calls of damsels in distress, even if the damsel was bitchy and too lazy to do the job himself. Here he was, at the request of Lovino, banging on his little brother's door to the beat of his national anthem. "Mattie, open the door! The hero has come to see you!"

The door swung open to reveal an exhausted Canadian. "Al, what are you doing here?"

Alfred laughed loudly; the sound seemed to echo dramatically. "I just decided to visit my favorite baby brother!" Matthew didn't bother telling Al that he was his _only_ baby brother.

"Al?"

"Yup?"

"Its three o'clock in the morning."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Oh well!" Alfred shouted as he tossed an arm around his brother's shoulder and strode inside like he owned the place. "I barely see you anymore, Mattie! It's awful! You've probably been so sad without the hero around!"

"We just hung out two days ago, Al," Matthew grumbled sleepily. He leaned against his brother, fighting to stay awake as they flopped onto the couch.

America frowned. "Why are you so tired, Mattie?" His concerned expression morphed into something akin to anger. "Has that creepy albino bastard been molesting you? Is that why you're so tired?"

"What part about _its three o'clock in the morning_ don't you understand? And no, he hasn't been molesting me. I-I actually haven't seen Gilbert in a while," the violet-eyed blonde admitted softly.

America gnashed his teeth angrily. "He's probably trying to break up with you, but he's too chicken shit to actually do it, so he's just gonna ignore you!" The hyper-active blonde shook his fist. "I'm gonna kill his ass, I…" The over-enthusiastic blonde froze mid-sentence, as he realized that there were _tears_ falling from his brother's cheeks and soft hiccups emitting from his mouth. The boisterous American flailed nervously, uncertain as to what to do.

"Y-you're probably right!" Matthew wailed and buried his face into his brother's shoulder. "H-he probably forgot about m-me!" His voice was muffled by the worn leather of America's favorite bomber jacket.

Alfred was freaking out; he could _not_ handle tears. Hell, the only time he cried was when one of his celebrities died! Well, he also cried when he watched horror movies sometimes, but that wasn't because he was scared. He just felt really bad for those people that got eaten by monsters! Yeah!

Desperate to stop his brother's crying, America called the one person who could soothe him.

France.

* * *

A/N: Gotta love that America logic, huh? France definitely wouldn't have been on my list of "people to call when little bro starts crying".

I love Alfred's nack for unknowingly making any situation worse, though... I'm sure that's quite handy at times.

Well, on to the next chapter!

SEE YA NEXT TIME!


	3. Chapter 3

America explained the situation to Francis, who proceeded to tell Spain, hoping that the cheerful Spaniard would tell Gilbert. As it turned out, Antonio told Romano, who got really pissed and decided to teach "that albino potato bastard" a lesson and called England.

As it was, Prussia was completely unaware of any of this, just as he was unaware that England was under the impression that he had been molesting Canada. As such, the albino wasn't really sure how to react when he heard a dark creepy voice chanting spells on his voicemail. The message went on for several minutes, though Gilbert didn't know this. The very second that he heard Arthur muttering nearly unintelligible words on his answering machine, he tossed the cell phone on the ground and smashed it with his feet. Once the device lay massacred on Hungary's living room floor with several random electronic bits spilling out of it, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Well, that was one problem solved.

* * *

The week leading up to the world meeting passed in an agonizing blur for Matthew. He hadn't heard from his boyfriend since they received the news of Italy and Germany's engagement. Alfred had been insistent on spending every second with his "sad, victimized brother" (these were Alfred's words) in order to ensure that there weren't any "creeper albino rapists" (also Alfred's words) sneaking up on him. Arthur had been in a similarly protective mood, as he had showed up at America's place to make sure Canada was well (though he briefly forgot who Canada was). Unfortunately, England insisted that he prepare meals to ensure that his food hadn't been poisoned with date rape drugs by a certain "bleeding kraut" (a direct quote from Arthur). Towards the end of the week, a savior arrived in form of Francis, bizarrely enough, who had immediately taken the North American brothers to the doctor to handle any potential food poisoning.

Thusly, Matthew wasn't in a particularly fantastic mood as he set foot in the conference room. As he opened the door, he assured himself that this week and its accompanying meetings couldn't be any worse than the prior week that he'd just experienced.

Of course, as soon as he opened the door to see Russia waving at him with a particularly disturbing smile on his face, the small Canadian immediately chastised himself for being so foolish. For a brief moment, he considered slipping out of the meeting room and quickly retreating to his ever so comfy hotel bed (it's not like anyone would notice), but he'd missed his window of opportunity. America was already bulldozing him into the room where hell on earth awaited.

* * *

Austria was pissed. Hungary was busy making preparations for tonight's proposal, thus leaving Roderich to babysit a certain uncouth Prussian that he wasn't particularly fond of. They'd been standing outside of the conference room for nearly half-hour, all because Prussia was insistent on using this particular moment to catch up with Spain.

Austria's irritation, however, was nothing compared to Romano's. The Italian was nearly spitting hot lava from his eyes as the tomato bastard carried on a casual conversation with his friend. Every so often, Spain would sweetly pat his head, and this only further burned Lovino's fury. He briefly considered throwing something at Antonio, but the only thing he had handy was that stuffy Austrian bastard. Though effective, he was unfortunately doubtful of his ability to actually lift the piano bastard. He'd learned the hard way that even if it looked light, it probably wasn't.

Calmly, Austria cleared his throat to get Prussia's attention, but Lovino was the only who had noticed. The musician repeated his actions; annoyed, South Italy yelled at the idiots. "Bastards! Piano bastard has something to say! Now shut the fuck up!"

With a reluctant nod of thanks at the furious brunette, Austria spoke, "If you don't actually make it inside the meeting room to ask…" he trailed off. The name of Prussia's boyfriend eluded him despite his best efforts to recall it. Thankfully, a heavily annoyed Romano blurted it out before Austria was forced to ask or, worse yet, guess. "…Canada out to dinner tonight, then you won't actually get to propose to him. I'm sure Elizaveta won't be pleased if her hard work goes to waste." Shuddering at the memory of a certain household kitchen item, Prussia figured that, for once, the unawesome piano-playing pansy had a point.

To his pleasant surprise, the meeting room was already in a state of chaos. Germany was desperately trying to maintain order, his voice getting progressively louder as his irritation swelled. America was foolishly proclaiming that all of their problems could be solved if they simply named him "Ultimate Hero of the World", essentially allowing him to do as he damn well pleased. Russia was creeping out the grand majority of the Asian nations, and Greece was sleeping. Italy was asking for pasta; Japan was politely asking Italy to stop poking him. Essentially, this meeting was just like every other meeting, except that this time, Prussia would not be pelting Austria with peanuts or groping Canada.

Well, he wouldn't be doing those things until he asked Canada out to dinner.

Gilbert was just about to take a seat next to his favorite shy Canadian, but the chair was soon occupied by a certain American "hero". More precisely, the chair was occupied by America's feet, seeing as the burger-obsessed blonde had chosen to stand in it. Irked, the albino simply crept up behind Mattie instead, wrapping his arms around the petite blonde's shoulders.

"Birdie," he mumbled, burying his face in silky wavy hair. This elicited a small gasp from Canada. "Let's go out to dinner tonight, okay?" Before the crimson-eyed man could receive a response, however, he was tackled to the ground by America, who was screaming something about molestation. England began chanting evil spells, and France just chuckled at it all, his annoying "hon hon hon" laughter serving as background music to such an unawesome moment.

* * *

Several hours later, Prussia found himself standing outside of a restaurant with a particularly large bruise marring his right cheek. Clinging to his arm rather adorably was Canada, whose eyes widened almost comically as he took in the restaurant. Even from the outside, the establishment screamed _expensive_, and Matthew curiously glanced up at his boyfriend. This certainly wasn't the type of place Gilbert would've normally chosen for a date, seeing as how the "awesome" albino immediately gained a disgruntled frown at the mere thought of attending a restaurant where a tie was required. In fact, Canada had been confused when his lover had muttered, "Wear something nice tonight," before shuffling out of the conference room to treat his bloody nose.

On the inside, the restaurant was just as immaculate, and once again, Mattie turned to look at his boyfriend curiously. Gilbert smiled back innocuously, which only succeeded in making the Canadian even more anxious.

"Do you have a reservation, sirs?" the host asked a tad snootily, his eyebrow quirking as he took in the sight of the massive bruise on the albino's face.

"Yes. It's under Beilschmidt," the Prussian bit out his last name tersely, crimson eyes narrowing as the man eyed him critically.

With a curt nod, they were escorted to their table. As they walked, Matthew found himself gazing about the restaurant, and he caught sight of a familiar pair of brunettes. They were seated in the far corner of the restaurant and appeared to be speaking to each other rapidly as they watched Mattie and Gilbert. The female of the two suddenly seemed to realize that she was no longer staring at the back of a curly blonde head but rather a pair of surprised violet eyes. She flushed and quickly lifted the leather bound menu to cover her face. She gave her companion a sharp nudge with an elbow; with a weary sigh, the pianist did the same.

_Something isn't right here._

At last, they arrived at the table, and for about the fourth time that day, Gilbert surprised the hell out of his blonde boyfriend.

He pulled out the chair for Matthew.

For a moment, the violet-eyed nation didn't even know how to react. He paused for a moment, simply staring at the pale hands that were loosely clasped around the beautiful mahogany chair, before finally taking his seat.

There was a bottle of champagne painstakingly nestled into a bucket of ice, as well as several scattered rose petals on the table, and after a surreptitious glance at their surroundings, Mattie was able to confirm that this wasn't one of the restaurants normal services – meaning that Gilbert had _requested_ these things. Another brief glance at the familiar couple in the corner only confirmed Canada's theory that something was amiss. It took everything he had not to just ask Gilbert what was going on; instead he just kept his mouth shut, allowed the waiter to pour him some champagne, and let the evening play out.

* * *

A/N: I can't say I blame Canada for not asking what Gilbert's up to. As soon as I would've see Hungary lifting the menu up to her face, I would've turned away and pretended that I didn't see anything...

SEE YA NEXT TIME!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: WAHHH! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS AND FAVORITES AND FOLLOWS! YOU GUYS ARE EPIC!

Sooooo, I really wanted to update before now, but I've been busy with settling into college, so I haven't had much time. But now I'm here, settled in, and I hate it. Urgh, what can you do? As such, I figured I'd hook you guys up with an update; cuz I'm a beast like dat and shizz.

...Ignore me...

**WARNING: **Shit gets real in this chapter. Nah, in all seriousness, things do get a _little bit_ angsty in this chapter. I just started writing, and the next thing I knew, people were crying and shizz. What can I say - stuff happens.

ENJOY!

* * *

As much as Gilbert hated to admit it, he was fucking nervous.

The entire affair was too much. As soon as he noticed Matthew's alarmed and bewildered expression outside of the restaurant, the ex-nation knew that Hungary had gone a little overboard with this whole proposal. The crimson rose petals that had been scattered across the ivory tablecloth had only confirmed this.

Currently, Prussia and Canada were waiting for their waiter – or rather, one of their several waiters – to return with a dessert menu. The night was quickly coming to a close, and Gilbert found himself anxiously flicking his gaze between Elizaveta and Mattie. Every time his eyes met with anxious, confused violet orbs, he'd get even more nervous and would quickly glance at Hungary, awaiting some kind of damn instructions.

As it was, the frying pan wielding woman hadn't given him any kind of signal to inform him that now was the time to propose, though halfway through the main course, the albino soon realized that Hungary never told him what the signal_ was_, so there was high probability that she had flashed him the signal and he'd completely fucking missed it. Thankfully, neither Elizaveta nor Roderich were looking particularly frustrated, nor were they frantically making gestures for him to do something. Rather, the long-haired woman was discreetly whispering to one of the waiters with an amused smile on her face; as soon as the waiter scurried away to kitchen, she winked at him, and Gilbert's brows furrowed in confusion. However, all doubt was soon erased from his mind as the green-eyed country threateningly lifted a large frying pan from underneath the table and sharply mouthed, "Now!"

That was _definitely_ the signal.

"Gilbert? Is everything okay?"

Vermillion eyes ripped themselves towards Mattie's concerned face. "O-of course the awesome me is okay, Birdie!" the white-haired former country nearly shouted in his nervousness, stammering uncertainly. The smile on his face was unnecessarily wide and forced. "Why wouldn't I be?!"

"I…I really don't like it when you lie to me, Gilbert." The words seemed to jolt the fake enthusiastic smile off of Prussia's face. Mattie winced a bit at the sharp change in expression. "You've been antsy ever since we walked in. You keep glancing over my shoulder every five minutes; I'm guessing you're looking at Austria and Hungary? Not to mention, you've been distant these last two weeks, and suddenly you asked me out to dinner. All of this," Canada subtly gestured at their present surroundings, "it's lovely, but it's not you, Gil. So, what exactly is going on? Why are Austria and Hungary here? What are you keeping from me?" his naturally soft voice petered off, and his melancholy violet eyes stared firmly at his lap.

"Birdie…"

Before Gilbert could even attempt to explain himself, the host came bursting out of the kitchen with several waiters in tow and headed for their table. There was an ecstatic smile on the host's face, a drastic difference from his criticizing gaze from earlier. One of the accompanying waiters held an elegant glass bottle, and the other held a small assortment of desserts. "Congratulations on your engagement, sirs!" the host cheered in his heavily accented voice. "Please, accept this free dessert and champagne by way of congratulations. May your union be a happy one," he finished pleasantly. Several of the surrounding guests applauded them and shouted well wishes to the couple.

It took everything Gilbert had not to slam his face into the table.

Instantly, Mattie flushed uncomfortably. "Umm, I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong table," the flustered blonde explained quietly. "We're not engaged."

Matthew was just embarrassed, Gilbert reminded himself. This was a sudden onslaught, and it was more than a little embarrassing, and Birdie was just uneasy because of so much unwanted attention. Gilbert reminded himself of this, but for whatever reason, it still hurt to hear Matthew deny their engagement. It was unawesome of him to feel this way, especially considering that he hadn't managed to work up the balls to immediately propose to Mattie, but he still couldn't help but wince as the smaller nation mumbled, "We're not engaged."

The host apologized and quickly shuffled away, the waiters scurrying after him like baby ducks following their mother. The surrounding customers returned to their meals, and Matthew and Gilbert awkwardly fell into silence.

Canada could barely meet his boyfriend's eyes. The previous incident was certainly embarrassing, but it mainly succeeded in reminding him that he and Gilbert would probably never get married, because just as the great and awesome Prussia didn't do manners and ties and pretentious restaurants, he most certainly didn't do marriage.

The thought stung.

"Maybe we should just go," Gilbert whispered. The sound surprised Matthew almost as though the albino had yelled. He had never heard the awesome former country sound so resigned… "You can go ahead and wait outside for me. I just have to pay for this real quick."

"I can wait for you in here. I don't mind."

"Nah, its fine. Go ahead, I'll catch up in a bit." The words in and of themselves were casual and relaxed, but Gilbert's tone most definitely wasn't. By contrast, it was tight and keyed up.

The blonde rose to his feet, and as he walked away, Canada found himself wondering if the heaviness in his chest was indigestion or something else.

* * *

"Gilbert, I'm sorry," Hungary spoke as soon as she was within hearing distance of the albino. As she approached the table Canada had just vacated, Austria trailed behind her with a strangely sympathetic expression on his face. This, coupled with that damned pleading look in Elizaveta's eyes, only succeeded in pissing him off.

"Shut up," Gilbert hissed sharply. He bolted to his feet, and the swift motion drew the attention of some of the nearby customers. They watched the crimson-eyed man solicitously. "You just couldn't leave things alone. I told you all of this was too much, but you just kept fucking insisting. You kept saying that all of this," he wildly gestured to the roses and the slowly melting bucket of ice on the table, "is what Birdie wanted, but you don't know him! You don't give a shit about what he wants! Half the time you can't fucking remember him! This was all about you!" His voice grew louder.

Surprisingly, it was Austria who replied. "She didn't know this would happen, Gilbert. Yes, Elizaveta was the one who told the wait staff about your engagement, but she didn't know that things would play out the way that they did. That wasn't her fault."

Roderich's word were reasonable, but quite frankly, Prussia wasn't in the mood to be reasoned with. He was angry and upset and wanted nothing more than to punch that calm, infallible expression off of the pianist's face, even though the Austrian hadn't done anything wrong. Instead of hitting anyone though, Gilbert simply stormed out of the restaurant, ignoring the sad glances that were being aimed at his back.

* * *

"He didn't answer my questions," Matthew realized aloud as he waited for Gilbert outside of the restaurant. The Canadian couldn't help but replay the evening over in his head. He sighed. "Things definitely didn't turn out the way I expected. This…was definitely worse than last week." The thought made him chuckled a bit, though the sound was a bit hollow. It would seem that there were certainly worse things than England's bad cooking and America's hero complex.

_He's probably just trying to break up with you, but he's too chicken shit to actually do it, so he's just gonna ignore you._

And of course now was just the perfect time for Alfred's words to be replaying themselves in his head.

Canada had been so busy during the past week, so he hadn't had much time to consider what his boisterous brother had said. Now, though, he couldn't seem to get the words to stop bothering him, and for the first time in his life, the soft-spoken nation found himself mumbling, "What if Al was right?" That was certainly a terrifying concept.

His rational side insisted that Prussia wasn't trying to break up with him; after all, asking him out to dinner would've been counterintuitive. But then, a quiet nagging thought made itself known in the back of his head before stampeding to the forefront of his thoughts and trampling his rationality. To make matters worse, that tiny rationality-trampling thought sounded like Alfred (absently, Matt realized that it was very fitting that Alfred voiced his _rationality-trampling_ thoughts).

_What if he felt bad about breaking up with you, bro? So he was trying to make it easier on both of you by being all nice and taking you to some fancy ass restaurant that doesn't even sell cheeseburgers! And then he was gonna drop the bombshell over some wine and goose liver! I can't believe that, creepy ass albino! I'm gonna kill…_

Canada cut off his brother's voice. Maybe the idea was a little crazy, but to Mattie's heartache-tinged brain it made perfect sense.

"Hey, pancake bastard!"

Before Matthew had the opportunity to further dwell on his internal brother's theory, he was yanked out of his thoughts. He glanced up in time to see Spain and Romano approaching him with excited expressions; even Lovino looked excited, though he tried to mask the expression with his habitual scowl. Matt greeted them, but the smile on his face felt forced.

"Ah, Mateo!" Antonio cheered, pleased that he'd remembered the nation's name. "How was it?! Did Elizaveta make everything romantic and magical?"

Matthew was certainly confused by the Spaniard's words, and Lovino caught on immediately. His hazel eyes drifted down to his friend's right hand and was bewildered to see it was bare, no beautiful amethyst ring in sight. The Italian looked back up at the Canadian sharply, rapidly barking, "Where the hell is potato bastard number two?!"

"He…" the words seemed to catch in Mattie's throat, his breath hitching quietly. His violet eyes flickered between Lovi's furious burning eyes and Antonio's concerned expression. "He," the blonde tried again, but the words were still stuck, and suddenly all he could see was Gilbert's alarmed expression and the host's smiling face and that damned tray of desserts. "He!" Mattie cried before bursting into tears and mumbling into his best friend's shoulder as he sobbed. "Gilbert…he…crème brulee..." Matthew hiccupped uselessly, desperately hoping that somehow his friend would understand.

Lovino was completely and utterly fucking confused. He had no clue what the hell crème brulee had to do with anything, but he did know that Matthew was crying _un_happy tears and that meant that the albino potato bastard had fucked up, and Romano was going to kick his ass.

The restaurant door creaked open, and Prussia exited, shocked to see Spain and Romano and even more shocked to see that his boyfriend was crying. However, he didn't even have the opportunity to question it, as he felt strange waves of fury and malicious intent being directed towards him.

"I am going to fuck you up," Lovino promised darkly, still holding his friend. "I hope you weren't terribly fond of your dick, potato bastard number two. Because you're not going to have one by the time I'm done with you. In fact, no one will be able to recognize your face by the time I'm done, either." With that, the southern Italian abruptly turned away, rubbing Matthew's shoulder comfortingly and muttering death threats. Antonio shook his head, his normally warm green eyes accusing and sad as though the Prussian had just kicked a puppy before his eyes. Gilbert opened his mouth to explain, but Spain was already walking away.

* * *

To England's great relief, France's phone rang. The two of them were currently in Canada's hotel room waiting for the shy country to return from his date with a certain "bleeding kraut". Arthur seethed a bit at the thought, but this was nothing compared to America's reaction. The over-protective blonde had been pacing for the past hour, wildly shouting things as he did so. Normally, the older blonde would've been in a similar state of fury, but France's wandering hands had been more than a little distracting, and even several rapid slaps to the hand hadn't been enough to deter him (England actually found himself wondering if Francis was used to being slapped away that his hands no longer registered the pain). Thankfully, there was trilling coming from the pervert's pants pocket, and as the taller man answered the phone, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ah, hello, mon ami," France whispered sensually into the receiver. There was a short pause as the other person responded. The person's words must have been shocking, as the intentionally suggestive tone had been shoved out of Francis's words, and the arousing blonde simply sounded surprised now. "What?! No, he didn't tell me that! How did things go?" There was another pause, this one much longer, and the smile on France's face slowly morphed into a frown. "_What_?" the nation hissed sharply. "Why is mon petit crying?" The other person spoke once more, and France's cerulean gaze shifted between an anxious England and a furious pacing America. "Ah, maybe you should just take him to your room. Now really isn't the best time to bring him here." At these words, Alfred and Arthur were at Francis's side immediately, shouting words at a million miles a minute as France hung up his cell phone.

"Who shouldn't come here?! Are you talking about Mattie?!" the frantic American demanded, shaking the Frenchman by the collar of his blouse.

"Of course he's talking about Matthew, you idiot!" England screeched. "Why shouldn't he come here exactly? What's happened?"

With a sigh, France explained the current situation to the overreacting blondes. "Apparently, Prussia intended to propose to our sweet Mattheui tonight." He wasn't given much of a chance to continue.

"No. I forbid it," England said calmly, taking a sip of the tea that had not been there a few moments ago.

"No way in hell am I gonna let that albino rapist marry my brother!"

"Well, that's the thing: Gilbert didn't actually propose. Spain isn't entirely sure what happened, but he thinks that Gilbert changed his mind. He and Romano saw Canada outside of a restaurant alone, and when Romano asked where Prussia was, Canada started crying."

"So, what? That creepy fucker thinks he's too good to marry my brother?" America seethed. France didn't chose to point out that the nation was just vowing to keep Prussia from marrying his brother.

"So where is Matthew right now?" Arthur asked, finishing off his tea.

"He's in Romano's room." At this, the over-protective countries bolted to their feet, and Francis spoke once more. "But please, just leave him alone for now. He doesn't need any of…this," he gestured to England and America, "right now."

"Fine," the Brit agreed a tad begrudgingly, "but I still need to have a few _words_ with Prussia."

France chose to pretend that he didn't hear England cackling like an evil wizard and just followed the two blondes out of the room.

* * *

A/N: Lame chapter is lame. And angsty.

So, I wasn't really crazy about this chapter. Well, actually let me correct myself: I wasn't crazy about certain parts of this chapter. We were all good, but then Canada was just like BAM! ANGST IN YO FACE, BEEOTCH! And then I weakly tried to recover with a few lame ass jokes, and then...yeah...

Admit it, though. You laughed when Romano started threatening Prussia. Pfft! I couldn't write that scene with a straight face. I love writing for Lovi; I must do it more in the future...

SEE TA NEXT TIME!


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